


Happy or Sad?

by devilbunny



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF! Arthur, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Heavy Angst, I cannot stress this enough, Oh yes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Arthur, Simply Tommy in the season 5 finale, Suicidal Thoughts, and proper emotional angst, but oh god the angst, spoilers for Peaky Blinders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilbunny/pseuds/devilbunny
Summary: A one-shot of how the season finale from season 5 could have progressed. Tommy is distressed, to put it lightly, and he is alone with his pain. Not a good idea, not a good one at all. His emotional trauma and pain from everything that has happened to him are finally catching up and crushing him.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Happy or Sad?

**Author's Note:**

> I will post this as a one-shot for now and might update it to a proper fic once I have written more. Kudos and comments appreciated as a writing incentive :D

“Happy or sad, Thomas?”

_Sad, sad, sad. Always fucking SAD!_

His mind raced at a pace that made it impossible for him to keep up. Exploding grenades mixed with the sound of a gun going off, the whizzing of the shells in the air became the whistling of a bullet, her surprised sigh turned into his pained wail. He was caught in thick mist only that it was not mist but the smoke from the artillery and his feet stepped into a puddle on the floor only that it was not just a puddle but he was wading through the mud in the trenches again. He had never left them, he realised that now. The Somme had never let him go and he had been naïve, so naïve to have ever believed the opposite. These past few years had been a dream and he was still in hell, still underground, still in the tunnels… If he listened closely, he could hear the shovels as they dug closer and closer towards him.

“You need to listen to the voices, Thomas. It’s such a small change, so soft. Come home to me.”

He did not know where up and down was, could not get enough air into his lungs as he stumbled on. His eyes were fixed on the only face that could make the shovels go away, his own angel that had pulled him out of hell. Grace was standing in front of him and although he ran as fast as he could now, he did not seem to get closer to her. Or was he even moving at all? Was he stuck in the mud? The screams of the dying soldiers around him got louder and the ones that had already lost the fight crowded him now, trying to push him to the ground, trying to bury him alive. They were going to drag him back into the tunnels, he knew they would.

“Stop!” he cried. _“Leave me alone!”_ His shriek sounded more like the plea of a hysterical child, but he didn’t care. Blind panic cursed through him. _Not down there again, never down there again, no please, leave me alone, please, just go away, go away, go away…_

“Such an easy step.”

Thomas slowed down and stood up straight. Of course. Grace was right. Suddenly he remembered the weight of the gun in his hand. He felt his face twisted into a smile. He could go home to Grace. It was so easy. He had been fighting this urge for so long and he could not remember for the life of his why. It was the most obvious and simple solution. No complicated plan needed. No repercussions he would have to deal with after. No responsibility. He felt his face shift even more. Suddenly his body started moving on its own accord and he paced through the mist again. He had lifted the gun up to his head, his finger on the trigger.

“Come home to me, Thomas.” Grace looked him into the eyes. Something was off but he could not tell what.

There was one scream now that sounded much closer than the other ones. At first, it confused him, he tried to search for its origin, but his eyes refused to leave Grace’s face for just one second. Suddenly it seemed like he heard yet another voice, but it was far away, probably miles down the trenches, not his problem.

“Happy or sad, Thomas?” Grace asked again. Tommy was tempted to answer happy at the prospect of joining her at home so very soon but did not seem to be able to get the words out of his mouth. He did not have enough air in his lungs. Also, his heart was beating so hard it would break his ribs soon. He realised that he was drenched in sweat and shaking all over. How weird. He was also still pacing, but somehow it did not feel like he was trying to get to Grace, but he felt like he was perhaps running away from something. This weirdly calm feeling of certainness Grace’s words had awoken in him started to fade a little bit and he could hear the voice a bit clearer now.

It was his own.

Tommy was screaming at the top of his lungs, pain, and anguish making his voice sound like the roar of a wounded animal. Also, his face did not scrunch up into a smile. His mouth and forehead hurt from the terrified grimace they had been distorted into. As soon as he had registered what his body was doing, his mind started catching up and he slowly became aware of the fact that he was currently pressing a loaded gun to his temple, his index finger twitching on the trigger.

_NO!_

But he could not seem to put his hand down. It was like someone was holding up his arm and he felt a second hand on his, the delicate fingers feeling so familiar, the soft skin against his…

He did not want to die but if Grace wanted him to come home so badly, who was he to deny her that wish? He was her husband after all. Yet the scream on his lips did not die and his legs did not vain their frantic pace. His face did not mirror the rationale in his mind and Tommy could not shake the feeling that he had forgotten something, something very important…

“Dad? Dad, wait for me!”

Thomas froze in place. His stomach turned, he felt sick.

“Dad, what are you doing there? You’re scaring me!” Charlie’s desperate sobs reached his ears, but his eyes were still transfixed on Grace’s stone-like face.

“Dad, what is it, are you sick?” Charlie crashed into his legs and clung on for dear life, sobs making his little body shake. “Dad, you’re not a horse, what are you doing?” he shrieked.

Thomas felt like his mind was going to split in two. He did not know what was happening. There was his son who clung to him, terrified, shaking, _touching him_. Reminding him of what he had forgotten. Grace could not touch him… but he could change that, couldn’t he? With the gun, he was still pressing to his head. But it did not feel right. He would have to leave Charlie here if he left with Grace.

_I can’t do that_ , a small voice in his head protested. _My son needs me. And Rose does too. And Lizzie. And Arthur, and Ada…_

But the voice was so quiet, and it was so easy for Grace to drown it out…

“Happy or sad, Thomas?” Well, he wasn’t sure anymore. Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from Grace for a second and look down at Charlie. Tommy felt like he had been punched in the gut when he saw his little boy standing there, white in his face, tears streaming down his cheeks, the veins on his neck straining as he kept yelling something Thomas could not hear. He frowned. The blind panic in Charlie’s eyes was wrong. His son should not have that look in the eyes. He should not look like a soldier who is seeing the front for the first time. He had to do something about that, had to comfort Charlie…

Thomas realised he could move his arm a bit. It was hard but he could. Slowly, inch by inch he lowered the gun. It was so hard as if he was trying to move a bolder all by himself, but he did it.

“No!” Grace seemed irritated; her eyes narrowed. “Thomas, we were nearly there.”

“I can’t, Grace.”, Tommy panted. Speaking hurt his hoarse throat. He had barely enough strength to even manage a whisper. “I can’t. Charlie…” His left arm twitched as if to touch his boy, but he could not muster the strength. He was paralysed, incapacitated by Grace’s eyes, and the gun in his hand.

“Thomas, come home to me!” Grace was really angry now.

“Dad?” Charlie’s voice was so small against his leg. He could feel the tears seeping through the fabric of his trousers. “Dad, who are you talking to? There is no one here!” He dug his little hand into Thomas’ suit. “Please, can we just go home?”

_Home._ But where was that? Grace was gone. Michael betrayed him. Polly would side with her son. He got the father of Ada’s child killed. John was dead. Lizzie despised him. Rose was afraid of him. A bitter laugh ripped itself from his chest. Or was it a sob? He had a home once. Grace had been that home.

“Please, dad, you’re scaring me.”

_Bang_

A shell exploding next to him, just meters away from where he was standing on the ladder. His ears ringing, dirt raining down on him and getting in his eyes. The adrenaline coursing through him, waking him up, getting him out of the funk he had been in all day. It was better than any snow could ever be. His mind sharpened, concentrated and suddenly Tommy _saw_.

He was not in fucking France; he was in the fields behind his manor in Birmingham. There had been no shells exploding, no soldiers wailing, just the combined sobs of him and his son who, without really understanding what was happening, was desperately trying to save his father’s life. The adrenaline did not stem from a nearby explosion, it was the near-death experience, his body trying its hardest to survive. And the words, that had just left Charlie’s mouth. He had finally managed to get through to Thomas.

_You’re scaring me._

How often had he been sitting in Arthur’s room, terrified of his father’s wrath when he came home drunk and found something in the house that annoyed him? Hadn’t it ended with the two of them facing off and Thomas’s father beating him bloody? Didn’t he know better than anyone else what it meant to be scared of a parent? And _FOR_ a parent when he thought of his mum? Just hours before he had asked his uncle how his mother went. He knew the answer, he just needed to hear it again because he _knew_ , deep down he knew the same thing was happening to him. He knew he was hearing things, seeing things. That he was tempted by the opium more than he had ever been. Fuck, he also knew that Grace was not really there. But with all the mud and pain and smoke in his head, that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if she was real or not, if he himself, Thomas fucking Shelby, lived, or died. Nothing mattered. It was just all pain and chaos and anguish. But this…. He looked down at his son again. He had forgotten this. Had forgotten the responsibility he had. Had forgotten that he had sworn to himself when Charlie was born that he would do it better. That he would be a good dad, that his son would grow up happy. How could he have forgotten?

_The work is all done, Thomas,_ Grace had said. But it wasn’t, was it now? It would never be done because he was a parent and a brother, and an uncle and he had a _fucking responsibility!_ No matter how tired he was, how much pain there was inside of him, how much he thought he would buckle under the weight on his shoulders, he could not just leave. That would be selfish, and Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not selfish. With a pained grunt, he in one hard motion lowered his arm. He did it that fast, for a second, he was worried he might have dislocated his shoulder.

“Thomas, no!” Grace yelled at him. “Come home to me!”

But this time Thomas met her cold gaze with one equally as dead ad she was. “No, Grace. And if it was really you, you would never ask this of me.”

Grace’s face twisted into something barely recognisable as human and she screamed, one long high-pitched sound that went straight into Tommy’s brain, made all thoughts die down and threatened to tear him apart. It was so loud he pressed his hands to his ears and, the gun still in hand, he collapsed onto the wet ground. It didn’t stop. He knew Grace was not standing there anymore, but the scream in his head didn’t stop. He could not hear, not see, not think, not breathe… He was back in the tunnels, he remembered now, there had been a collapse, he was buried alive, that’s why he could not breathe and the scream in his head was the cacophony of dying men and wounded soldiers and exploding shells and dead family and…

“ _Fucks sake,_ Tommy, what are you _doing_?”

Suddenly he was pushed to the ground face first, and now he really had mud in his lungs and eyes. His body snapped out of it, forcing him to cough, clear his airways, and open his eyes so that the tears could wash out the sand.

“Gimme that!” the harsh voice snapped and pulled the gun from his cramped-up hand. Tommy could hear it land several yards away.

“Uncle Arthur, what’s happening?” Tommy heard Charlie somewhere behind him, his voice weak and small.

“Shh, it’s alright, Charlie, lad. Your dad was just being silly, hm? Just being silly, eh, Tommy?” Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, shook him a bit. Dared him to answer.

“Yes.” Thomas finally managed to get out. Arthur continued: “Don’t think any of it, boy, hm? ‘s just grown-up business. You run along now, head to your mum, hm? Tell her, we found your dad and that I and him will be along shortly, eh? Yeah, good boy.”

Thomas heard small footsteps as Charlie hesitantly moved back a bit but then he suddenly sobbed again and ran away as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. For a second, they sat in silence, Tommy on all fours in the mud, Arthur still half leaning over him. Tommy felt the adrenaline cease and got sick all of a sudden. He lowered his head and threw up all while his body shook violently, and sobs tried to escape him between the retching and gasping for air.

“Shit, Tom,” Arthur whispered while he rubbed small circles on the back of Tommy’s shoulders, just like when they were kids. “I had no idea it was this fucking bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad, Arthur.” Tommy answered shakily rolling away from his own sick and trying to sit up. “It’s bad.” He put his head between his knees and tried to control his breathing. Neither of them moved. Then, when he felt like he was not going to faint right there and then, he tried to stand up. Arthur immediately grabbed his arm and steadied him when Tommy swayed dangerously but he kept his balance and his legs did not give out either. Carefully he took a step and the ground did not come up to greet him. Good. “Right.” He said as he turned towards the house. “Time to get on with it then.”

“And what exactly do you think you’re getting on with then, hm, Tommy?” Arthur stood in his way, towering over him. Tommy was too tired to deal with this now. All of the sudden he was so tired. When was the last time he had slept? Like properly? It must have been years…

“Tom! Look at me!”

When he didn’t respond Arthur grabbed him by the arm and stopped him before he could walk past his big brother.

“Leave it, Arthur.” Thomas responded angrily.

“No. No, Tom, I won’t leave it. I won’t fucking leave it! Until yesterday it was me who was sinking, who was going under and you didn’t leave it, did you? Did you now, Tommy, hm? And all those times when I had the rope around my neck and the gun in hand? Yeah, you never left it, like hell you would have! And you know what else? You always knew when I was drowning, you always knew, Tommy! You knew because I told you, yeah? Not always in words, I know, but I fucking showed you! You always knew that my head was black, that the boat my mind is in was tipping over!” Arthur had started screaming, his face red and tears brimming in his eyes. “Why didn’t I know, hm? Why didn’t I know, Tom? Eh? Why didn’t you come to me? You _knew_ I’d understand! I’d know what you’re going through! Why didn’t you come to me, Tommy, eh?”

Thomas felt shame boiling up in him, but he pushed it down. No point, no point at all. Shame meant admitting that he had done something wrong, and admitting something meant he cared and caring meant feelings, and feelings meant pain. No point to any of this. So, he just shrugged. “’s not the same.” he said looking down.

Arthur let go of him and took a step back as if Tommy had hit him. “’s not the same.” He repeated in a hollow voice. “Not the same, hm?” He grabbed Tommy by the collar and started screaming in his face. “It’s not the same, is it? Oh, of course, it fucking isn’t! How could I even think that, how could I even dare compare meself to the al-fucking-mighty Thomas Shelby?” He spat on the ground. “Even his demons are better than mine, is that it? Hm? Even at our lowest, we could never be equals, eh? So, when you helped me it was the mighty king who took pity on one of his footmen, but lo and behold the fucking king himself! A filthy commoner could never help him, eh? Is that it? Yeah? Well, never mind me then!” Arthur pushed Tommy away and he stumbled and fell into the mud. The older Shelby stormed to where he had thrown the gun and picked it up. In blind fury, he approached Tommy, and with a shaking hand, he extended the gun towards him. “Be my fucking guest!” he spat out.

Thomas stared at the gun and felt his stomach turn again. Two sides within in him fought for control, one with long blonde hair and one wearing a Blinder's cap. The Blinder won. For now.

“Arthur?” Thomas asked and there was something in his voice that surprised him: fear. It scared him that Arthur was extending this possibility to him. Had he given up on him? Well, Thomas could not really blame him if he had…

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Arthur must have heard the twinge in his voice as well because now he put the gun away and pulled Thomas in a bone-crushing hug. Thomas thought about fighting it. Feelings meant pain, feelings meant pain, feelings meant pain…

But he did feel and to his surprise, it was not the red-hot iron pulling at his heart he had grown so accustomed to since Grace died. It also wasn’t the all-consuming, bone-chilling black hole that had opened up in his chest during the war. It was just warm. Arthur’s body heat seeped through his drenched clothes and warmed him from the inside. His hand grabbed Tommy by the back of his head and pulled him in closer until his face was pressed into Arthur’s shoulder. He could smell his brother; all whiskey and smoke and the cologne Tommy had given him for his birthday. Arthur smelled like _home_. To his surprise, Tommy could feel something wet on his cheek. When had he started crying?

“Tommy” Arthur said. He sounded choked up. “Tommy, how can I help you when you won’t let me in, hm? How can I save you when you don’t want to be saved?” He pulled Thomas even closer. “I will never give up on you, brother, but I think you have given up on yourself. And you’re never allowed to do that, eh, Tommy? Eh? Because none of us ever will! You hear me? None of us _ever_ will! And you have been always the smartest of us, haven’t you, Tom? Haven’t you? So, if we ain’t givin’ up, then you can’t either, ya hear me, Tom? I won’t allow it! I am your big brother and I won’t fucking allow it!”

“I see her, Arthur.” The words were out before Tommy could stop them. He sobbed. “I see her all the fucking time! When she died, she left something behind, something that looks like her and smells like her and sounds like her. But she is asking things of me, Arthur. Things the real Grace would never ask.” His voice cracked and he desperately tried to fight the hysteria, tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. In France, he had always been able to control himself but now it was like a dam within him was broken and everything, fucking _everything_ broke free. All the carefully tucked away feelings, the weakness, the fear, the pain, oh the _fucking pain_. It was all there in his head, but it left, it left through his mouth and it felt so good to finally let it go.

“She has asked me to come home to her.” Thomas said while he grabbed onto Arthur as to not fall over. He did not know how long his legs would keep him up anymore. “She said it was not the stone, it was me! It was me who killed her! Hah!” He laughed a hard and ugly sound. _“As if I didn’t know that!”_ he hissed; his voice full of disdain. “I don’t know if she hates me, Arthur… I really don’t. She should, it would make sense. And maybe she does. Why else would she ask me to kill myself?” Now he was hysterically laughing and if it wouldn’t have been for Arthur, he would have fallen and never gotten back up. He just knew that to be true. But his big brother held him upright, panic written all over his face at Tommy’s fit. After a while, Tommy was not shaken by laughter anymore but by his violent crying. “And I want to do it, Arthur.” He all but moaned in pain, his face scrunched up into a grimace that told of the agony eating away at him. “ _I want to do it._ All this pain and suffering and fear, and for what? Ever since France, nothing makes sense anymore! It’s like the artillery and shells have blown everything else to pieces! And then I thought, I needed to be strong for you, for my family! But Michael proved me wrong there, didn’t he? And when I had found Grace, I thought, it would all make sense again, you know? And when I found out, she had spied on me I tried to shrug it off, but truth is, truth is, yeah? That I was already so numb, so _fucking numb,_ eh? That I barely felt anything after she left. I only started feeling again when she came back. And then finally everything was supposed to be okay! No gunfire, no artillery, no _fucking shovels_ behind the walls! And then… _bang_.” He said it so calmly that Arthur seemed even more distressed. “One second I am the luckiest man in the world and the next… I am nothing. I am nothing without her, do you hear me, Arthur? Eh? Fucking nothing!”

“Tommy, no, that’s not…”

“Oh, yes, it is, Artur! It is and you know it!” The strange calm that had washed over Tommy still lingered. He took a step back and smiled sadly. “I tried, Arthur. I really did. I fucking tried to be a good dad, to be a decent husband to Lizzie, and to provide for everyone. And where are we now? My daughter is scared of me, my son will probably never speak to me again, my wife thinks I don’t love her, which…. That is not even true because love is a feeling and I am not particularly good at those lately. So, I don’t know if I do or ever could. But I wanted to do right by her. And the business? The family? You’re in nearly as bad a shape as I am, John is fucking _dead_ ” He snarled at that like a feral wolf. “and Michael and that new wife of his betrayed me. Polly will undoubtedly side with them. And how could I blame her?” Thomas looked Arthur straight in the eye. “So, you see, I am nothing without Grace. So, tell me, what is really keeping me here? Please tell me because next time this happens…” He shuddered. “I need good fucking leverage,” he muttered.

“Well,” Arthur stepped towards him again and to Tommy’s surprise, he smiled. “That’s easy then, isn’t it? You’re Thomas fucking Shelby.” He grinned as if he had just solved the most difficult math problem known to man.

“Yes, Arthur.” Thomas was starting to get annoyed. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, it’s the solution. Because you find a solution for everything, Tom. And you survive fucking everything. If anything, then right now you are not yourself and that is the actual problem. So, I say, we get you home now, yeah? And then we work on getting the old Tommy back. Because he is in there somewhere. I know that you think he died with his wife, but I doubt that. If he didn’t die in France, nothing will kill him.” Arthur took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered Tommy one. Hesitantly he accepted. Arthur lit both of their cigarettes and took a long drag. He grabbed Tommy by his shoulder and directed him back into the direction of the house. “We will fix this, eh, Tommy? This will be item number five.”


End file.
